Whew! The month I have coined as “survival month” has come and gone and by golly, not only did I survive, but I truly cherished each day. And I don’t even smell bad. You know why? Because I showered. Everyday. Woot woot. I’m telling you, the things we come to brag about sure change when we become moms. I told a girl at the store that I got four consecutive hours of sleep one night. She looked at me with this poor you kinda face. Little did she know I was bragging. Four hours of consecutive sleep and I feel like a million bucks. Anyway, here’s to your first month, Van! (Cheers, high fives, dosey does all around)…

Growth: You weighed 9 pounds, 8 ounces at birth and were 21 inches long. On the day we left the hospital, two days after you were born, your weight dropped to 8 pounds, 14 ounces. By the next morning, you had already gained an ounce when weighed at your first doctor’s appointment. Two days later than that, you gained three more ounces. You out-grew newborn diapers in the womb and are already wearing a size 1. At your one month checkup, you weigh an incredible 12 pounds (91st percentile = high fives all around) and are 23.5 inches long (95th percentile). I’m curious to see how your weight fluctuates. Hooper was in the 90th percentile at birth and dropped to his lowest, 10th percentile, sometime before six months of age. I could careless about percentiles this time around and feel pretty confident, based on all your pissing and shitting, that you’re getting just what you need. It is such a relief to not have to worry about your weight. 

Appearance: Your hair is light brown and your eyes appear steel blue, which I imagine will turn brown in time. The sclera of your eyes were red at birth, proof of being pushed into my pubic bone for three hours. You have a small birth mark on the top of your head, long skinny fingers and toes, and long skinny legs. You looked almost identical to your brother initially, but after your second week of life I’m not so sure. You seem to have different features and at this point in time, you look more like your Papa. Even more than your Papa, you look like Benjamin Button. You have a bald spot on the top right part of your head where your newborn hair has already fallen out, which doesn’t help the old man resemblance. You Papa says the bald spot will make you a faster runner. And your eyebrows and eyelashes are so light they appear non-existent.

Feeding: You are a tit sucking mongrel. They say I should feed you every two to three hours, but sometimes not more than an hour goes by before you’re rooting again. My milk came in on your third day of life and my boobies look so full and plentiful because of it. Sure beats the saggy tits your brother left me with. So thank you, we are both benefiting. You like to cluster feed in the mornings and evenings, gearing up for a long nights rest (I hope) and an afternoon nap (I hope). 

Sleeping: You’re a newborn, which means you don’t sleep for any length of time. On the plus side, you do sleep. On the negative side, you sleep mostly during the day and then expect me to party with you all night long. My days of staying up late drinking are long gone, please learn to drink your milk during the day and sleep at night. The days of swaddling seemed like so long ago, but alas, have returned. I must have swaddled and re-swaddled you twenty times a night for the first week or so. The best was when I would unswaddle you to check your diaper, discover it’s clean, then re-swaddle you only to hear a loud shit explosion come out your butt. I slept with you on the sofa for the first three weeks of life to allow Papa to get better rest so he could care for all of us during the day. He had the first couple weeks of your life off from work. You make lots of little noises during the night and I’ve had a hard time sleeping even when you’re sleeping because it always seems like you’re about to wake up. You’re in your crib now and sleeping much better. Co-sleeping doesn’t work for us. 

Development: Again, you’re a newborn, so development at this stage consists of opening your eyes from time and time. You are quite the wiggle worm and I presume you be an early roller just like your brother. You eat, you sleep, you shit, you pee. That’s about it. I lie, you’re also into staring at the ceiling. And not because you’re lying down on your back, but because you really and truly love the contrast of the ceiling beams. Your brother was the same way. Even when you’re sitting upright, you tweak your head to see those things. You also seem to recognize faces. Your Papa brags about the 20 minute love affair he had while you gazed into his eyes. You have a very peaceful and gentle disposition thus far, but of course that’s subject to change. 

Some other tidbits:

-We’ve taken to calling you “Vanderson” as a nickname. Typically nicknames are a shortened version of your given name. We are aware that we have added to you name. And we don’t care. You also call you our “little bean”.

-If you were a girl, you were going to be named Penelope. It’s a good thing you came late, however, because we would have been stuck in the shadow of the Kardashian chick who named her daughter Penelope just days before you were born. We both agree we would have had to change your name last minute. I know, we’re dumb for caring, right?

-It’s only fair to confess that you have tried to latch onto your Papa’s hairy nipple. And his nose. More than once. We call this maneuver “the woodpecker”.

-You don’t fuss often. When you do, it’s usually followed by a shit explosion. This leads to your helpful Papa changing your diaper, which in turn leads to you pissing a mile high stream into the air just as he’s about the fold over the clean diaper. It’s true, each diaper change has required at least one, sometimes two, extra diapers.

-For the record, your Papa treated himself to a massage before me. I’m just saying, for the record.

-You make many odd noises in your sleep. Sometimes they resemble a pig squealing, other times they sound like a pissed off cat or an old man grunting. It makes co-sleeping undesirable and led me to research “baby grunting syndrome”… apparently it’s a syndrome and apparently it’s normal and supposedly you’ll grow out of it. If not, I feel for your future roommates and wife.

-I’m pretty sure your brother realized his life had changed as evidenced by the random whacks on the head. By the second week, however, I’m fairly certain he has no recollection of life without you. The whacks have seemingly been replaced with an eagerness, and I mean a down right insistence, to hold you, kiss you, and get right in front of your face to say “hi-yee!”.